Lucky Charm in Las Vegas

by A. R. Winters

  “Neither have I! I asked Glenn how long it took him to make them, and he just laughed. He said he used to make them when he was younger and had first started working at a bakery—they smell so amazing!”

  I stopped petting Snowflake, and went over to the countertop to admire Glenn's creations more closely. They were square, with fluffy, glazed edges, and a center of fruit filling. There were three different fillings—apricot, blueberry, and apple.

  Snowflake meowed plaintively, and I glanced back at her. “Sorry, Snowflake. I can't keep these Danishes waiting any longer—but I promise we'll play as soon as I’ve finished eating.”

  I washed my hands and set out the pastries on plates for Ian and me, while he made us each a mug of steaming hot coffee.

  Ian and I settled down on the couch, and for a long time, the only sound in the room was that of us sipping our coffees and chomping away on the Danishes. Snowflake sat next to us, and looked from Ian to me, giving us both dirty looks. She wasn't interested in the pastries, but she did want us to hurry up and play with her.

  Finally, Ian and I came up for air.

  “These are the best Danishes I've ever had!”

  I agreed. “The fruit filling is just perfect, and there’s some custard in the corners as well—I'm not sure how to explain it, but everything just goes together so perfectly.”

  There were only two Danishes left—one for me, and one for Ian. We both slowed down our chewing, and savored our last pastry slowly.

  When we finally finished our delicious breakfast, I made us some more coffee, and then Ian and I sat and talked about the case. As I sipped my coffee, Snowflake jumped onto my lap, and I stroked her soft, fluffy coat.

  “I'm glad Nanna called Brad and spoke to him on the phone,” Ian said. “He seems really opposed to talking to anyone about his sister's death. If he hadn't been Charlene's brother, I would've thought he was trying to hide something. But he seems to have a rock-solid alibi as well—I'm sure the police have checked it out.”

  I nodded. “But it wouldn't hurt to double check.”

  “Do you think we should try to talk to Brad later?”

  I shrugged. “It's always important to talk to family members if you can. Family members are suspects by default, and Brad might be able to tell us something we didn't know before. Maybe we could talk to the rest of the people we need to, and then we'll try to find him at his laundromat.”

  “Speaking of the laundromat, maybe we should try to speak with Brad's partner, Chris. Even if Brad doesn't want to talk to us, maybe Chris will.”

  “You’re right. I guess the easiest place to start is with the roommates. We can head over there as soon as we‘ve finished our coffee.”

  Charlene's apartment was a short drive from my place—she lived slightly northeast of where I did, and I guesstimated that it would take her half an hour to walk to the Treasury. The rent on her apartment was probably a bit cheaper than mine, but she would have still been able to walk to and from work.

  I parked my car on the street, and then Ian and I got out and looked at the building where Charlene lived. It was run down and somewhat decrepit, with paint that was peeling and fading under the harsh Nevada sun. Many of the buildings on this street looked similar—old and tired apartments with small parking lots in front, and stairs that ran up the outside of the building. I was about to walk over to Charlene's building, when I spotted a familiar face.

  Billy smiled at me and Ian, and waved brightly. “Tiffany! Ian! How nice to run into you.”

  I'd been so busy staring at Charlene's apartment that I hadn't noticed where Billy had shown up from.

  I gaped at her. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was just out for a drive. I'm glad I saw you two here.”

  I raised an eyebrow at her. “So this was just a coincidence?”

  Billy beamed at me brightly. “I'd say it was more of a fated kind of thing—I think I must've moved to Vegas to be able to help you guys out. I heard that the guy who hired you called Charlene his lucky charm. Maybe I'll be your lucky charm?”

  I eyed her warily. She didn't seem to be armed, and she didn't look particularly dangerous, but her presence made me feel a bit uneasy. I wasn't about to trust her, and I certainly wasn't about to spend any more time with her.

  “It was nice to run into you,” I said, mustering up as much cheerfulness as I could. “But I just remembered I have to go somewhere else.”

  Billy's face fell. “Where? Maybe I could come with you.”

  “I don't think so,” I said. “Come on, Ian.”

  “Wait,” Billy said plaintively. “Don't go! I could help you guys with your work. And I know lots of martial arts—I could protect you and act like a bodyguard if you need one.”

  I didn't feel like telling Billy that my friend Stone had forced me to take Krav Maga lessons and to learn how to shoot a gun. Instead, I said, “I'm all set for bodyguards for now, thanks.”

  And then, before Billy could try to persuade me to let her help out on our case, Ian and I jumped into the car and drove off. I meandered around the side streets for a bit, and then I drove back to Charlene's apartment. Once again, I parked on the street. This time, Ian and I sat in the car for a full minute, waiting to see if anyone followed us, but there seemed to be no one on our tail.

  Finally, Ian said, “I can't believe Billy just came out of nowhere.”

  I shook my head, berating myself. “I should've been more careful—it was such a short drive, I didn't even think to check if someone was following me.”

  “You don't think she's working for Eli, do you?” And then, as though talking to himself, Ian said, “No, that can't be. Eli would have hired someone much more capable and confident—Billy seems silly and unprofessional. Unless it's all just an act.”

  I chewed my inner lip thoughtfully. “I don’t think she’s working for Eli. She's just a bit strange. You do meet a lot of strange people in Vegas.”

  Ian and I got out of the car and again headed over to Charlene's apartment. It was on the second floor, and I hadn't called ahead to announce my arrival. We knocked loudly, and a few minutes later, a twenty-something-year-old woman answered the door.

  Her dark blond hair was messy, and she wore pajamas and looked at us blearily. “What?”

  “I'm sorry to have woken you,” I said quickly. “You must be one of Charlene's roommates.”

  The woman looked from me to Ian. “You're not with the police, are you?”

  I shook my head. “We’re private investigators, and we’ve been hired by someone who met Charlene while she was alive. I'm really sorry to have woken you.”

  The woman stretched, and yawned loudly. “No, it's fine. Come in, I wanted to get up early anyway, so I could run some errands before my shift started this evening. It can get inconvenient when you work odd hours.”

  “Tell me about it,” I said, as I followed the woman inside. “I work as a dealer at the Treasury, and I’m always having a hard time getting everything I want to do, done.”

  The inside of the apartment was shabby, but clean. The carpet was an indeterminate dark shade, and the sofas looked well-used, as though they'd been purchased second-hand. An abstract, floral-looking print hung on one wall, and a flat-screen TV was nestled against the other. Ian and I sat down on the sofa, and then the woman said, “I'm Christine by the way. I’ll go change, and then we can chat.”

  She got up and disappeared through a room that I assumed led to her bedroom, and was gone for a few minutes, before reappearing again, this time, dressed in shorts and a tank top. She tied her hair back into a low ponytail, and she headed over to the kitchen adjoining the living room. As she busied herself with making coffee, she said, “What did you guys want to know?”

  “Just anything at all that you can tell us about Charlene,” I said.

  “Who hired you guys?”

  “A man named Andrew Combs. He met Charlene at the Treasury.”

  Christine finished making her coffee, an
d headed back to the living room. “He met her once, and he decided to hire you guys?”

  “No,” I said, before Ian could jump in and explain how Andrew had fallen in love. “They went on a few dates together.”

  Christine shrugged. “Yeah, sounds about right.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There'd been a couple of men who Charlene had met through work. She told me that work wasn't a bad place to meet guys, but I knew that she was trying to get herself a rich husband. She wouldn't come out and admit it, but she only dated people with money.”

  “So she'd gone out with quite a few men recently?”

  Christine shook her head. “She hadn’t told me about Andrew. But before that, earlier in the month, she went out for drinks with some guy, but that didn't work out. Her last date would have been a month or so before that.”

  “Did she tell you much about these men?”

  Christine took a sip of her coffee and stared into her mug thoughtfully. “Once in a while, she'd be really hopeful about a man, and tell me that he seemed charming and successful. I’d tell her to get real, and try to go out with someone who lived in Vegas—not some tourist who would fly out the very next day. But she never listened.”

  “Maybe one of those men she dated came back to Vegas, and tried to see her again.”

  Christine shook her head. “No, if that had happened, Charlene wouldn't hesitate to gloat. She thought I was being too cynical, and too quick to tell her to settle. One time she did go out with someone local, but that didn't work out.”

  “When was this?”

  “About two years ago—Charlene dated a valet at the Treasury, Vince.”

  “Vince… That name sounds familiar. Maybe he still works at the Treasury.”

  “I wouldn't know,” Christine said. “They were together for six months or so, but I don't think Charlene was faithful to him. Once it was over, Charlene didn't seem too upset—it was like she knew the relationship was doomed from the start.”

  I nodded, and made a note to look up Vince. “Do you know anything about this Vince? His full name, or where he lives?”

  “I think his full name was Vince Valmary. But I don't know anything more than that.”

  “And what about your other roommate? Is she home now?”

  Christine shook her head. “No, she works most days at the Swinton Ladies Boutique near the mall in South Vegas. She should be home soon after lunch today, if you want to come by then to talk to her.”

  I nodded. “I’ll do that. But back to Charlene—what was she like?”

  Christine savored the last sip of her coffee, and then looked down at her empty mug in disappointment. “I'm going to make myself another mug,” she announced, before getting up and heading back to the kitchen.

  As she made another cup, she said, “Charlene wasn’t my favorite person, but she was a good roommate. She did her share of the cleaning, and she never let the dirty dishes pile up. I knew she didn't have too many friends, and she wasn’t a particularly friendly person, but she paid her share of the rent on time, and I guess that's what really counts when it comes to roommates.”

  “But you two seem to have gotten along.”

  “We've been living together for two and a half years. The other roommates come and go, but Charlene and I both work shifts at different casinos—she worked at the Treasury, and I work at the Mirage. So I guess, in a way, we understood each other.”

  “These other roommates who came and went, how many of them knew Charlene?”

  Christine tilted her head and looked off to one side thoughtfully. “There was Zara… and then Michelle. Candy—no, she was before Charlene moved in.” Christine thought some more, and finally counted them off on her fingers. “Zara, Michelle, Darlene and Angelina.”

  “Do you have phone numbers and details for them?”

  Christine nodded, and whipped out her phone. She recited full names and phone numbers, and I jotted down everything and repeated it all back to her to verify.

  “I don’t think they’d have kept in touch with Charlene, though,” Christine said. “Vegas isn’t that kinda place. People move on. They leave you behind.”

  I sighed and agreed with her, and Ian said, “That’s why it’s so hard to make friends here. Everyone keeps moving around and not staying in touch.”

  “Yeah,” said Christine. “And it’s hard to make new friends if you’re busy working all the time.”

  I thought through what I’d learned about Charlene so far. “Did you know of anyone who really hated Charlene? Enough to want to hurt her?”

  “No, she didn't have many friends, but that doesn't mean she had enemies. I can't think of anyone who would hate her enough to want to hurt her.”

  “And what about the days before she died? Was she acting strangely in any way?”

  “No, not that I can think of.”

  “What about this planned trip to New York of hers?” I asked, remembering what Andrew had said. “Did you know that she was planning to go?”

  Christine smiled and shook her head. “No, I don't think she was planning to go at all. That was a line she used on men she’d just met—she told them that she would be visiting their hometown soon. I think she said it to see whether they were looking for a serious relationship or not, or if they'd get scared that she would show up on their doorstep. It was just one of those tricks she used—it's hard to meet men, and even harder if you're constantly meeting people who don't live where you do.”

  The three of us chatted a bit more about Charlene, and life in Vegas, but we didn't learn anything useful. Finally, we said goodbye, and that we’d drop by after lunch to talk to her other roommate, Mary.

  Before we left, I handed Christine my card. “Call me if you think of anything else.”

  “I will,” Christine said, taking my card. “But I don't think there's anything else to say—Charlene was just such an ordinary person. In many ways, she was just like me—she lived here, she tried to make a living, and she tried to find a nice man who she could settle down with. I can't imagine why anyone would bother to kill her.”

  Ian and I headed back to my car. This time, I took a good look around before I got in and drove off. There seemed to be no sign of Billy, and I hoped that perhaps she'd given up and decided to leave me and Ian alone.

  Chapter 10

  Ian and I drove over to Charleston Heights, where Brad's laundromat was. As I drove, I kept an eye out for anyone who might be following me, but I didn't see anything suspicious.

  Sunset Laundry was in a large strip mall, next to a seedy looking bar that promised cheap drinks and video poker. The other establishments included a McDonalds, a Mexican food place, a hair salon, and a tax accountant.

  The laundromat was tinier inside than it looked from the outside. There was a bench where customers could sit and wait, and at least five washers and dryers. A machine dispensed washing powder, and there was a countertop designed for folding clothes.

  Everything was coin-operated, and there was a tiny desk near the back of the room, next to a door that I assumed led to the back office.

  Two men were at the desk, talking to each other in hushed tones. I wondered if they might be Brad and Chris—one of the men was sitting behind the desk and he wouldn't do that if he wasn’t an employee or an owner of the place.

  The sole patron of the place, a large muscular man with a gray, chest-length beard and multiple tattoos was loading his clothes into a machine. We waited ‘til he was done and had walked out of the laundromat, and then Ian and I headed over to the two men who were watching us with mild disinterest.

  “You can get change at the bar next door,” one of the men said. He was short, and slightly chubby, with close-cropped blond hair. The man next to him had the tall, lithe body of a dancer, and straight, jet black hair.

  “We don't need change,” I said. “We’re trying to talk to the owners, Brad and Chris.”

  The short man I'd been talking to eyed us warily, and the tall
man said, “You found them. I'm Chris, and this is Brad.”

  I looked carefully at Chris. There was a hard, suspicious edge to his voice, and I wondered if he thought Ian and I were trying to sell something.

  “Ian and I are private investigators,” I said. “We've been hired to look into Charlene's death.”

  Chris’s eyes grew cold, and he pressed his lips together.

  “We're not talking to you,” Brad said quickly. His face had turned red, and he glared at us and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “I'm very sorry for your loss,” I said to Brad. “It must be terrible, losing a sister you were so close with growing up.”

  “Get out.”

  This time, it was Chris who had spoken. His words were icy, and while Brad looked like he might explode at any moment, Chris seemed calm but full of hatred.

  “We’d just like a few minutes,” I tried again. “We know how much Brad loved his sister, and we've been hired to pull out all the stops to find out who did this.”

  “We're not talking to you,” Brad repeated. “If you're not here to wash your clothes, you need to get out.”

  Ian and I exchanged a glance.

  I looked at Chris, who jerked his head toward the door, and then at Brad. The anger in Brad's eyes had faded slightly, and was replaced with a tinge of sadness. He met my gaze, and shook his head. “I'm not talking about it.”

  “Just a minute or two,” I pleaded. “It might help our investigation.”

  “You heard him,” Chris growled. “Get out now, before I have to call the cops on you.”

  Ian and I didn't need any more encouragement. We finally turned, and got back into the car.

  “That was disappointing,” Ian said, as I started the engine.

  “Tell me about it.”

  “If Nanna hadn’t called Brad, this would probably be all we'd ever have gotten out of them.”

  “I'm not about to give up so easily,” I said. “I don't know how we’ll get them to talk to us, but we'll figure something out.”

  When we got back to my apartment, Ian ordered Chinese takeout for lunch, and as we ate, I fired up my laptop and logged into my private investigator's database.